Alps Attack Narrative

On an icy spring night I was murdered by a villain who had raided my village. Two days before the attack my father and I had been fighting crime south of the Alps, I have been fighting crime since I was young. My father has always been a warrior for as long as anyone can remember. Tattoos cover our bodies, they symbolize the spirit of the warrior. We are the only warriors in our village, and are considered heroes. Bruises and scars cover my body, reminding me of past trials. I knew the Alps through and through and voyaging them was a large part of my life.
A day before the attack occurred my father and I were picking herbs and plants at the base of the Alps. After we collected the needed medical supplies we headed back to our village just south of the Alps. The trek back was roughly a two hour long hike through thick vegetation. I was startled, when I arrive, all the tents had been burned down and most of the food and other supplies had been taken. I was immediately confronted by the chief, who told me a

group of five men stormed the villages with torches and other weapons and ransacked the village. In order to avenge our village we had to find the band who brought so much anguish to our home. We loaded our packs with food and supplies preparing for the long trek ahead. I have been crafting metal tools my whole life, but never have I crafted an axe if this caliber. A 24 inch Copper axe with a 4 inch blade was by far more technologically advanced than anyone around me had produced.
While we were tracking the raiders through the night we decided to pitch a tent and rest until morning. When we woke up we tracked the raider for 2 more hours. When we spotted the group they were settled in a clearing preparing a meal. Their chief left the group to find some berries for breakfast. After half an hour my father and I decided to fire arrows at the raiders. After the first shot they took cover. My shot missed wide but my father hit the largest man in the group. After the raiders realized they were under attack they all charged the rock we were hiding behind. I decided to draw my knife and confront the attackers. My father and I engaged them half-way, since our hand-to-hand was far more superior to anyone else south of the Alps we defeated the first two attackers with a swift blow of the axe and a slash of a knife. My father was much slower than usual because of age and lack of sleep. the fourth attacker slashed his knife towards my father and instinctively I grabbed the knife before it sank into my father's flesh. The attacker pulled the knife back and sliced my hand severely. He tackled me to the ground and I crashed into the rocky earth. My father regained his footing and slayed the attacker with the copper axe that had fallen to the ground during the scuffle. The other attacker had retreated to the tree line. My father snatched up his bow and fired an arrow into his back. It was roughly a 40 yard shot, possible only after decades of training in the art of combat.
While we celebrated our victory the chief of the band appeared from the tree line and fired an arrow that struck my father in the lower abdomen.

He cries out in pain and fell to his knees. I tried to carry him to safety, but while I tried to put him over my shoulder another arrow struck his upper back and penetrated his right lung. I knew he had no chance of surviving so I drug him into the dense vegetation and gathered my things as quickly as I could but before I could retreat into the Alps the chief attacker drew an arrow and shot me in the upper right side of my back. Since he took the shot from long distances the injury appeared to be minor. I fired an arrow back in the direction it came from. The arrow struck him just below the chin and killed him instantly. I broke the arrow off that was embedded in my back and retrieved the other arrows. I knew my father was dead and decided to carry him to the place where he first trained me in hand-to hand

combat.
The climb there was treacherous and almost impossible to reach but I was a well trained climber and made it there with ease. I buried him deep in the snow. While I was burying him I realized that the injury was far worse than I imagined. I began to feel weak, but I pressed through the pain to bury him. After being in the Alps for so long and with the loss of much of the blood in my system I realized that death was inevitable. Hypothermia began to set in and before long I began to feel very warm. I began to scatter my clothes and other belongings around me in order to maintain average body temperature. I eventually collapsed bleeding profusely out of my wound in my shoulder and hand only to realize I would die a mere 2 feet above my father where I could dig no deeper due to the dense permafrost of the alps.